


Nobody Wants An English Heatwave, Least Of All Crowley

by Guardian_Rose



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, No Angst, all fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 11:27:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19927327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guardian_Rose/pseuds/Guardian_Rose
Summary: Now, don’t get him wrong. He loves heat. Snake instincts left over from times as the serpent. But this was pushing it. Over twenty seven degrees in England was torture.Yet, despite all this, Aziraphale is still functioning in a shirt and heavy trousers and that blessed coat. A coat for hell’s sake. Ridiculous bastard.Footsteps come closer and Crowley lazily turns his head over to face the other way, spitting hair out his mouth as he does. He smooths his skirt out a bit just in case whoever comes in isn’t the angel.“Zira!”***This is born entirely of me being sick of living in the country that's meant to be full of rain but is full of awful heat.





	Nobody Wants An English Heatwave, Least Of All Crowley

English heat waves are the worst Crowley has experienced. In six millennia nothing has beaten it. Long, sweltering days in the deserts of the world have come close but nought has yet to take the crown from the muggy high temperatures of London. English heat is thick and heavy. It’s omnipresent and stifling. And to make matters worse, the country still isn’t built for it. It’s built for rains and clouds and not heat that makes Crowley want to curl into the fridge because god forbid the angel install some air conditioning in his bookshop. Though, on the flip side of this, he doesn’t have any in his apartment. Mostly because he doesn’t spend much time there.

So the next best thing is stripping down to a  _ short _ cotton skirt and nothing else but underwear. The skirt is only there because he wanted to feel pretty this morning and then ended up stripping off his shirt as soon as the sun started to climb higher in the sky. He’s spread out, arms and legs thrown out to the sides, on the wooden floor in the hopes of hiding under the cloud of murky summer heat. There’s a cup of ice water next to him that he’s slowly watching the ice cubes melt in. The shop is technically open and anyone could wander too far and see him in the back room, only mostly hidden by the bookshelves but no one does. Aziraphale is making sure of that. None too happily. The shop’s only open because Crowley had miracled open the front door in the hopes of a breeze passing from the open windows to the door and back. At the time, Aziraphale had miracled the door closed. Crowley had opened it. Aziraphale closed it. And so on and so on until Crowley fought his way out of his fancy top to then sprawl dramatically on the floor. Aziraphale had thankfully given in at that point. He’d also brought the water. 

Now, don’t get him wrong. He loves heat. Snake instincts left over from times as the serpent. But this was pushing it. Over twenty seven degrees in England was torture. 

Yet, despite all this, Aziraphale is still functioning in a shirt and heavy trousers and that blessed  _ coat _ . A coat for hell’s sake. Ridiculous bastard. 

Footsteps come closer and Crowley lazily turns his head over to face the other way, spitting hair out his mouth as he does. He smooths his skirt out a bit just in case whoever comes in isn’t the angel.

“Zira!” 

There’s a sigh and then some shuffling and then the angel is standing in front of him, looking down with an exasperatedly affectionate smile on his face. 

“What is it?”

Crowley smiles that ‘wily serpent’ smile, his nearest hand moving to run circles with his thumb over Aziraphale’s ankle under the stupid beige trousers. “You’re gonna boil in that.”

“It’s barely thirty degrees, my dear, we’ve been in far worse.”

“Thirty is hell here though! I would know!”

Aziraphale sighs and crouches down, brushing the rest of the errant locks out of Crowley’s face. “I’m fine, I promise.”

“At least lose the coat, angel,” Crowley bites back his smirk as Aziraphale wavers, his face is awfully red, “come on, love, for me? You’re gonna bloody faint if you keep this up.”

“I’m really not, Crowley, but…” Aziraphale glances back at the rest of the shop and then back down at the demon who bats his eyelids demurely, “if it’ll make you feel better.”

Crowley’s grin is so smug as Aziraphale slips his coat off that the angel rolls his eyes. It also prompts Crowley to prop himself up on one elbow so he can reach with his other hand to pop open the top three buttons of Aziraphale’s shirt. The angel breathes a puff of laughter and catches his wrist as Crowley withdraws. There’s the soft brush of Aziraphale’s lips on the fluttering pulse under Crowley’s skin. 

“Better?” Aziraphale asks softly without letting go.

Crowley hums, trying to will away the blush rising on his cheeks. “You’re ridiculous, angel.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hate this heat with my whole being because England is not built for this.
> 
> Thank you for reading! <3
> 
> No beta, all mistakes my own
> 
> Prompts welcome here and on my writing tumblr [WordToTheRose ](https://wordtotherose.tumblr.com/) or come say hi on my main [Guardian-Rose-Petal](https://guardian-rose-petal.tumblr.com/)


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